


Trust

by HermioneGirl96



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen, Missing Scene, No Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-07-13 19:20:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16024328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HermioneGirl96/pseuds/HermioneGirl96
Summary: An alternate scene from Feet of Clay, in which Vetinari asks Vimes if he trusts anyone at all. Just a bit of Vimes thinking and Vetinari/Vimes conversation. My first attempt at mimicking Pratchett's style. A one-shot. Not slash, but I suppose it depends on which goggles you're wearing.





	Trust

Havelock Vetinari squinted at the Commander of the Watch. "Is there anyone you _do_ trust, Sir Samuel?"

There was a moment of silence in Vimes's brain before an answer raised its head shyly and met his eyes. The answer said, "Carrot, sir. That is, Captain Carrot, sir. Even though he stands to gain most if you die, I couldn't possibly believe that he's behind this. There just isn't a crooked bone in his body, sir. Even the bones that were supposed to be crooked had to straighten themselves out to get inside Carrot. Sir."

Emboldened by the first answer, a second answer came forward and said, "Fred Colon, sir. He might be lazy, but that's his biggest flaw, sir. I'd certainly never call him ambitious, so that's something, at least, sir, and he tells me whatever needs to be told."

An answer that was either very drunk or very stupid started to say, "Nobb-" but before the name was even out of its mouth all of the other answers laughed it out of the room.

When the laughter and throwing of apple cores had died down a bit and the stupid answer had left, another answer came forward and said, "Sybil, sir. Because, well . . . because."

As he scanned the crowd of answers for more volunteers, Vimes cursed himself absently for not thinking of Sybil sooner. Of course, Vimes was an Ankh-Morporkian to the bone (and quite possibly beyond, although as of yet no one had cut him deeply enough to find out), so an absent curse from him was like a very present curse from most people. Some of the answers took offense at Vimes's language and left, and Vimes sighed, knowing it would take days to find them all and convince them to return. Just when he had started remembering where all of them sat, too . . .

Outside of Vimes's brain, Vetinari cleared his throat.

Vimes blinked. "Oh. Yes. Couldn't say, sir."

"Do you trust yourself?"

"Oh no, sir."

"Do you trust me?"

"Absolutely not, sir."

"I expect no less of you."

Vimes nodded and pushed open the door that led out of Vetinari's room. "Good morning, sir."


End file.
